


Failsafe

by ami_ven



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsheplets, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not leaving you!” John snapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failsafe

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "mcsheplets" prompt #178 "learning experience"

“Talk to me, McKay,” said John, as alarms began blaring through the supposedly powered-down Ancient outpost.

“We’ve run into some kind of failsafe,” said Rodney. “Which is impossible, because this place is dead!”

“Well, it’s happening, so it can’t be that dead,” said John. “Where is the power coming from? And can you shut it down?”

“Those are two completely separate questions, colonel,” Rodney snapped, turning to an access console and beginning to type. After a moment, the alarms fell silent, though the lights continued to flicker.

“McKay—”

“I only turned off the speakers,” said Rodney, still typing. “The failsafe is still going. Let me see if I can…”

John tightened his grip on his P-90, frustrated that he could do nothing to help.

The flashing lights sped up. Three long low tones sounded, then force fields began springing to life, around the three alcove terminals— and the main console where Rodney was standing.

“Hey!” shouted John, rushing forward. The force field felt solid, but with a palpable hum, like touching a Van de Graaff generator. “Rodney!”

“I can hear you, colonel, there’s no need to shout,” said Rodney, still typing.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Rodney snapped. He typed some more, then said, “I think it’s part of the failsafe, but something’s not right.”

“Like what?” asked John.

“The containment fields were supposed to activate if something went wrong with the power source— not the one powering the fields, and not a ZedPM, some kind of experimental thing some idiot Ancient was working on. But there _are_ no power sources, everything had been removed ten thousand years ago. We had to bring in a naquadah generator just to turn the lights on.”

John put his hand flat against the force field and pushed. “Then it’s drawing power from our generator?”

“No,” said Rodney. “Wait, _no_. It’s getting power from somewhere else.”

“Can you shut it down?”

“I don’t even know where it is!” Rodney protested. “It’s— There! The Ancients were experimenting with whatever this energy source was, before they figured out ZedPMs, and it was unstable. The containment fields and the sensors for them run on a separate, solar-powered system…”

“Can you shut it down?” John repeated. Pushing against the force field had no effect, so he tried his knife, only to yelp in surprise at the mild shock. “McKay?”

“It’s not meant to be shut down,” said Rodney. “It’s the last of the last resort systems, completely separate from everything else. They system is assuming that we tried everything we could think of, but that the power source is still melting down, or whatever it did, and the failsafe is preparing to activate.”

“Activate what?” John asked. “ _When_?”

“Oh,” said Rodney, with what was clearly false nonchalance. “Just a burst of multi-spectral radiation at four times the lethal dose. In ten minutes.”

“Then shut it down!” John ordered.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” said Rodney. “It’s not meant to be shut down. It’s _meant_ to keep people from doing exactly what we’re trying.”

“Then try something else,” said John. “If you can’t turn it off, maybe you can break it. The control crystals, the thing that’ll fire the radiation burst, the force field generator…”

“Yes, _yes_ ,” said Rodney, snapping his fingers. “The containment field. The generator must be somewhere in the ceiling, so if you just—”

He broke off abruptly, stopping in mid-step and turning away from John. “Go,” Rodney finished, his voice oddly flat. “You need to go, colonel, now.”

“What?” said John. “No! There’s got to be a way to get you out of there.”

Rodney snapped the lid of his laptop shut. “ _Go_ , colonel. You have eight and a half minutes.”

“And you really think I’m gonna leave you here to die?” John growled.

“You’ll have time to make it to the ‘gate and—”

John slapped his open palm against the force field, and Rodney flinched. “ _Dammit_ , McKay!”

“Go, John,” said Rodney, pleading, leaning against the other side of the force field. “Please, just go.”

“ _No_ ,” said John. “You said you had an idea, some way to turn this off…”

“There’s still six minutes, Sheppard, you can—”

“I’m not leaving you!” John snapped. 

“You _have_ to,” said Rodney. “If you leave now, you’ll live, which I know is not a very high priority with you, but it is for me, and I can’t risk your life again, John, against only mine, my ego. I just can’t.”

“ _Again_?” John repeated. He pushed against the force field at Rodney’s shoulder, but it continued to feel solid, separating them by a good three inches. “What— _Rodney_ , I trust you, okay? This isn’t like Doranda, this isn’t anything like Doranda, and _I trust you_.”

“Why? I almost blew us both up.”

“ _I_ almost blew us both up,” John corrected. “Our safety on that mission was _my_ call, Rodney, and it was my fault we almost didn’t make it out in time.”

“But I… I asked you to trust me.” Rodney put his hand on the force field, near John’s. “And I was wrong.”

“Even you can be wrong, McKay,” said John. “I was angry at you for manipulating me, but I was angrier at myself for letting you. But now, I’m guessing that we both learned _very_ different lessons from that experience.”

“John…”

“Tell me how to get you out of there,” said John, his voice low, “or tell me that I have to watch you die. Because those are your two choices.”

Rodney closed his eyes. “The ceiling,” he said, like it was painful. “It should just be natural rock, not Ancient alloy. A few rounds into it, where the containment field is generated and it should—”

John was already straightening up, raising his P-90 to aim at the ceiling. Chips of rock rained down— out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Rodney duck, even though he couldn’t be hit— but then the force field began to splutter, and Rodney toppled sideways into him.

Letting his weapon fall to the clip on his vest, John slung an arm around Rodney’s waist and hauled them both outside. Rodney dialed the ‘gate while John sent the code, hitting the transmit button as soon as the wormhole appeared.

They skidded into Atlantis’s ‘gate room, still holding on to each other, and John yelled, “Shut down the ‘gate!”

“Colonel, doctor, are you all right?” asked Woolsey, leaning over the railing from the Control Room.

“We’re—” Rodney began, seeming to realize that they were still tangled together, and started to pull away, but John caught his arm.

“We’re good,” he said, as much to Rodney as to everyone else. “We’re really good.”

Rodney smiled, and squeezed John’s hand. “Yeah, we’re good.”

THE END


End file.
